


as every prophecy unfolds, oh hell is surely on its way

by notthebigspoon



Series: Jet Black Sky Is Painted White Again [7]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunter Pence: out but not by choice and not happy about it.</p><p>Title taken from Crawl by Kings of Leon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as every prophecy unfolds, oh hell is surely on its way

Hunter doesn't know that anything is wrong until he walks into the clubhouse and everyone stops talking. They stare at him, no one responding when he helplessly asks 'What?' and makes tracks for his locker. He barely manages to put his bag down when he's being summoned to Bochy's office. There, he's shepherded to a meeting room. He swallows hard when he's pushed to sit at the empty side of a long conference table. The other side is populated by Bochy, Sabean, coaches, a few people that he doesn't recognize.

He breaks out into a cold sweat, rubbing his hands against his jeans and looking back and forth. This is bad, this is so bad. He wonders, wildly, what he did wrong. Nothing has happened since he came to San Francisco. He hasn't done anything wrong. Unless Belt has suddenly changed his mind and reported Hunter for harassment or something in which case Hunter's career is probably doomed and God, he'd thought they were doing so well.

“Son, calm down. Breathe before you asphyxiate.”

“What's going on?” Hunter asks, staring at Bochy and praying he doesn't look as terrified as he feels. Judging by the sympathetic look he's receiving, he probably does.

“I take it you haven't read the papers today.”

“I don't usually read newspapers anyway.”

“So I take it you didn't know about this.”

Hunter's about to retort that no, he has no fucking idea what's going on at all but his voice dies in his throat when an envelope is pushed across the table at him. He takes it, meets Bochy's eyes for a moment before flipping it open. His blood turns to ice and it feels like his heart has just stopped in his chest.

In the envelope is a handful of pictures. Hunter fans them out. They display him and Victorino in various embraces. Really, the photos are relatively innocent. Sweet, even. Light, closed mouth kisses. Arms wrapped around each other, foreheads pressed together and grinning at each other. He can vaguely remember the night they were taken, wracks his brain for anyone who could have taken the pictures or who would have had the motivation to send them out and make them public. All he can think of is the more painful memory of the way Victorino tossed him aside a few short weeks later.

The pictures are shoved back into the folder, which is slammed shut and sent skittering back across the table. It thumps into Sabean. Hunter presses a hand against his mouth to stifle the pained moan that wants to escape. He looks down, stares hard at the table and shakes his head when they try to coax him into looking up.

He only whispers, “That's over. That's been over for two months.”

“Now, you've got to understand the position this puts us in.”

“I don't understand at all. You're going to have to explain it to me.”

“Pence. This is something that happened with a man. That alone is going to require explaining. With a married man? It's going to be a PR fiasco.”

“For you maybe.”

“I don't think you understa-” Sabean starts but Hunter shakes his head again.

“No, I don't think _you_ understand. My personal life is that, personal. I can remember the night these were taken and they would have had to do some pretty tricky work to get the shots. They deliberately invaded my privacy as well as Victorino's. I gave no consent for these pictures to be taken or released.” Hunter says quietly, finally forcing himself to look them in the eyes. “As far as I'm concerned, it's nobody business. You want a statement? Fine. I'm gay. I'm not ashamed of that and I never will be. But all of this was done without my permission and I'm not going to discuss it. Fuck whoever did this and fuck anyone who thinks they can push the matter.”

Standing up and walking out the door, back straight and chin held high, is easy. Maintaining the act back to the clubhouse and inside of it is harder. He doesn't treat anyone any differently than he usually does but people still avoid him. He feels like a leper. He doesn't think it's because he's gay, their response, he hopes it's not. Maybe it's just that they don't know what to say in the face of a scandal. The first person to approach him is Cain.

That's not really a surprise. All Cain does is squeeze his shoulder and tell Hunter that if he needs to talk, if he needs anything, just let Cain know. Hunter offers him a breezy grin and nods before turning back to his locker and suiting up for BP. No one else says a word. They just watch.

That's the tone for his day. Through BP and the game and afterward, his teammates look askance at him, some of them appearing to search for words before just giving him nods or thumps on the shoulder. The reporters are less kind, drilling him with questions and he finds himself repeating 'no comment' until it feels like the words don't have meaning anymore. He fields his third frantic phone call from his agent and repeats the same thing he told the coaches and the staff, that yes he's gay and no he's not talking about it.

When he finally escapes, he practically runs for the doors. He's not ashamed of himself by any means but all of this, something he had feared and thought that he had prepared for, is overwhelming. He doesn't know how to deal with it. In the player's lot, he slouches against the wall a few feet from the door, staring at his scooter. Tonight is not the most favorable night to be riding it. Not that he thinks that anything would happen, but it certainly gives people more ample opportunity to fuck with him.

“Need a ride?”

Hunter looks up. Cain is standing next to him, watching him with cautious eyes. Hunter nods gratefully and follows Cain to his truck, climbing in and slouching down in the seat as if folding in on himself will make all of this go away. He covers his face with his hand as they're leaving the lot. He's not going to cry, he'll never cry over this he hopes, but his hands are shaking and his skin is crawling and he feels a sick bolt of fear in his chest. He tells Cain how it feels, the way his stomach won't stop turning.

“Sort of like when you see the flashing lights in your rear view mirror and you just know you're screwed.” Cain states helpfully and Hunter nods, chewing on his lip until it bleeds.

“M'not afraid of who I am. I've been okay with that for a long time. I went through way too much shit to let someone, anyone, take that away from me. But it doesn't mean I'm not worried about what this is going to do to my career.”

“What about Victorino's career? Just out of curiosity?”

“Fuck Victorino. He doesn't deserve this either but fuck him, I don't give a damn what happens to him.”

Cain makes a noise that Hunter can't interpret. He doesn't care to, he just closes his eyes and lets the road lull him to sleep. When he wakes up, the truck is in the driveway of an unfamiliar house. He frowns up at it before glancing at Cain, who releases his grip on Hunter's shoulder.

“You shouldn't be alone tonight. Crash here.”

He has no energy in him to argue. He follows Cain inside. He hugs Chelsea and eats dinner quietly, mostly listening to them and speaking only when he's spoken to. He offers to help with the dishes but when Chelsea politely refuses, he thanks them for dinner and the bed and says good night before shuffling off to be alone.

He brushes his teeth before shutting himself up in the spare bedroom. He strips down to his boxers and his t-shirt and crawls into bed. He thumbs at his phone and watches the display light up. Even as he lays there watching it, the missed calls and new mail count goes up by the dozens. He opens his text messages, ignoring all the unread opening up a blank one, thumbing Brandon's name into the To: field.

Hunter Pence: I'm sorry about this. Those pictures are old. It's okay if you can't do this. This isn't your shit to deal with.

To his surprise, the phone buzzes and a new message from Belt flies up on the screen before he can even put the phone down.

B Belt: Don't be stupid. I'm not dumping you. Get some sleep first, you've got plenty of time to start dealing with it in the morning.

It's easy for Brandon to say, when he's not the one dealing with this, when he has nothing at all to lose in this situation. But it's a comfort, truly, that he's not going to throw in the towel and give things up with Hunter just because Hunter's Big Gay Secret has become headline news. Hunter shuts the display off, not caring how stupid he looks as he presses a kiss to his phone before tossing it aside.

He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow. Brandon's right. He can start dealing with this in the morning.


End file.
